Exposed
by tastewithouttalent
Summary: "Akane is in the middle of a paragraph when the question comes; it takes him a moment to reel in from his train of thought and recollect himself to his own body." Clay asks an innocuous question and Akane is sincere.


"Why do you wear those at home?"

Akane is in the middle of a paragraph when the question comes; it takes him a moment to reel in from his train of thought and recollect himself to his own body. Then he has to look up to see if Clay is giving _any_ hint as to what he is referring to.

He's not, of course, just leaning on the kitchen counter with his chin braced on one hand and looking at Akane like he's a half-finished puzzle with an edge piece missing. Akane's not complicated enough to deserve that expression, but he does like it when Clay looks at him like that, so he grins and leans back against the couch and tips his head in the way that always gets the blond flustered.

"Wear what, exactly?" He looks down. "Clothes?"

Clay tsks at him but he's blushing too, so that counts as a point for Akane. "_No_."

Akane lets his grin slide into a smile, gestures for Clay to come over to him; the other boy starts moving around the counter to obey even as he continues speaking. "I mean your glasses."

Clay's too close by the time he finishes speaking for Akane to have a hope that the blond misses the way his face falls into sobriety. He does better when he's expecting the topic - he can flirt and tease right past sincerity if he's ready for it. But Clay never brings this up, and he really wasn't expecting the question, and so for a moment he's staring up at Clay with the immediate cold horror at the subject writ clear over his face.

Clay sees, of course. It takes him some time to analyze data, sure, but there's hardly any analysis needed with a meister and a weapon, not when you know the shape of the other's mind from the inside. Of course that means he knows what to say, too, or not say, in this case. He flinches but doesn't actually apologize aloud, just turns away for a moment to give Akane a chance to pull his features back to composure before he settles on the couch next to the meister. If it's an inch closer than he was, close enough that their knees bump together, Akane's not complaining.

"It's not like you need them to see," Clay says. He doesn't reach for Akane's hand, but he does angle his arm over his knee so his hand is hanging free in a silent offer. "And you wear them at school to cover your eyes." He's taken on the lecturing tone he has when he's delivering information to Sid, the tone that makes Akane see the professor he firmly believes Clay will be someday. "But here there's just me. And I've seen your eyes, both of them, lots of times." He smiles, ducks his head as if it will hide the flush over his cheeks. "I like to see them."

"You shouldn't always get what you want," Akane teases gently, but it's more self-defense than real teasing, and Clay doesn't rise to it any more than it deserved. The meister's forced smile fades and he looks down at Clay's fingers, reaches out to intertwine his own with the blond's while he pulls together the right words in his head.

"It's not hiding," he says finally without lifting his eyes from the pattern of their fingers. Clay's are relaxed, his are fretful, squeezing and shifting and fidgeting even as he clings to the other boy. "It is outside. But here it's just." He clears his throat. "It feels like I'm naked without them."

"Hold still."

Akane doesn't need the warning. He knows what Clay's going to do, can feel the resolve under the other boy's relaxed fingers. So he doesn't move, just shuts his eyes and waits until the frames of his useless glasses have slid free of his face. He's expecting the touch at his cheek, too, the feel of fingers brushing his hair back from his face, but even the expectation can't stop the tension that stiffens his spine and turns his breathing rapid and shallow.

"Calm down." Clay's voice is steady, soothing, slow and warm like summer heat. "You've let me do this before."

"Yeah, well." Akane has to force his voice to turn sharp in his throat, twist the joke back around on himself. "I was wearing fewer clothes then." That gets a laugh, like he was hoping, and he opens his eyes while the blond is still chuckling. His vision is perfect without the frames, or perfect as far as acuity goes. There is a faint overlay to his vision, an almost-there outline from his underused left eye, so Clay is barely haloed in a star when he blinks, but he can see well enough. Which means he can see the lack of horrror in the weapon's face, the total absence of the fear he feels deep in his soul _should_ be there.

"I don't know why you're not scared," he hears himself saying. He sounds young, as young as he was when there still was a Star Clan proper, young and confused and lost. "You should be scared."

Clay smiles. There's no apology under it. "Too dumb to be scared." His expression lights up his face, curves at his lips and sparkles against his eyes, and Akane is laughing and his eyes, marked and unmarked, are welling with tears at the same time. "I need evidence before I'll be scared, and you've never done anything to be a threat to me."

Akane has to look away then. He can't keep watching Clay's face. The casual affection there has too many implications, he really doesn't want to cry and that means he has to look away.

There's a shift of the couch, an arm coming around Akane's shoulders, and that's enough warning that Akane starts smiling in advance of the brush of Clay's lips against his cheek. It's easier to be happy than sad, with Clay, and just because that's an unfamiliar feeling doesn't mean it's not pleasant.


End file.
